


The Prince and the Blade

by ragdollrory



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Cuties in love but they have swords, F/M, Identity Swap, M/M, Mutual Pining, special guest: Krolia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22807408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragdollrory/pseuds/ragdollrory
Summary: “I’m a knight, I don’t know how to play a prince.” Shiro tries once more, and can guess the answer before Lotor voices it. After all, this would not be their first time playing the swap game, except they had been only kids back then.
Relationships: Allura/Lotor (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 106





	The Prince and the Blade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ribbitsplace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbitsplace/gifts).



> Happy [Sheithlentines](https://twitter.com/mysheithlentine) Ribbit!!
> 
> Your prompts were very sweet, and even though I tested some other ideas first, this was the one that called to me the most. There's definitely a first kiss, and there's sort of some first dates, so I hope I made them justice, and that you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!
> 
> A massive thank you to my amazing Beta, [Hiro.](https://twitter.com/bioplast_hero)

“You want me to what?” Shiro can’t help but to raise his voice an octave. It’s particularly poignant, in the calm of the forest around them, and that breaks the whole point of Lotor keeping his request on the low. Shiro winces, but manages to stop himself from dropping his shoulders.

The couple of paladins behind them hardly bat an eyelash, way past accustomed to Lotor’s antics, but aide Morkov next to them certainly finds the whole exchange uncomfortable, and clearly reproachful, if the twitching of his eyebrows is anything to go by. They are lucky the King and Queen are in their carriage ahead, and not riding alongside them this time. Lotor would not have survived if they had.

“It really isn’t such a hard request to comprehend, Takashi,” The prince drawls in that particular way that has Shiro’s hand twitching, and then he even has the nerve of noticing- of course he does- and laughing. For a moment that’s the only sound as they continue on their journey through the thick foliage. “I want you to pretend to be me, come time to meet the princess. So will you?”

It wasn’t a question, not exactly. Although Shiro could absolutely refuse it, throughout his life he’s learned two things; one, he will do almost anything Lotor asks; two, what he doesn’t, comes to bite him in the ass afterwards.

Head falling back with a long, and perhaps a tad exaggerated sigh, Shiro’s arms cross over his chest, as he tries to find answers in the clouds above. “Won’t she know?” And it had been such a peaceful trip so far.

“She’s lived abroad most of her life, she doesn’t know my portrait.” Lotor answers with the ease of a man who has indeed thought this through before now.

“I’m a knight, I don’t know how to play a prince.” Shiro tries once more, and can guess the answer before Lotor voices it. After all, this would not be their first time playing the swap game, except they had been only kids back then. He wasn’t expecting the less than gracious snort. To his side, the Morkov’s tongue clicks reproachfully, Shiro’s eyes drop to him for a moment, and the man’s gaze moves elsewhere not subtle at all.

“I’m not even going to acknowledge that quite frankly pathetic attempt at an excuse.” The prince’s fingers close around the smallest bit of fabric peeking through the plate pieces of his arm, and tugs. It’s only a lifetime of experience with Lotor that keeps Shiro from falling from his horse. It has happened before, and even when he’s eaten dirt, it hasn’t ended nicely for his royal highness either. “One more chance, Takashi.” Lotor’s words are accompanied with a raised eyebrow, a dare for Shiro to say what they both know he’ll say.

“I have no clothes.” The eyebrow raises higher. “She might not know your portrait, but everyone in the realms knows your mother won’t allow her only son to show up to courtship in armor.”

Behind them, one of the paladins makes what sounds like an affirmative hum, and Shiro tilts his to them as if to further prove his point, even when it won’t matter. No. There’s that look settled on the prince’s face, and Shiro knows he’s been doomed from the moment they left Daibazaal’s castle. “You’ve brought clothes for me, haven’t you?” He doesn’t have to wait for an answer to that, and so he returns to his silent contemplation of the sky and the high treetops above. 

“It’s just for a couple of days, Takashi.” If he didn’t know Lotor the way he did, he would miss the almost whine in his tone. “I merely want to meet the princess without the expectations of it. You understand that, right?” It’s all the same, Shiro thinks, he’ll say yes after all. And then Lotor will pay next time they meet on the training field. 

“I’m moving into your room once you marry.” Comes Shiro’s answer after enough time has passed that Lotor might start to doubt it. “And you’ll name your firstborn after me.” 

“Sure.” The prince’s nonplussed answer is Morkov’s breaking point apparently, because now there’s a horrified gasp coming from Shiro’s left, and honestly, if the aid draws a deeper breath, he’ll turn blue. “Oh, just go ride at the back, will you?” Lotor ushers him away, and Shiro has to wonder how has this man survived in Galra court for so long.

A second goes by, and then another, and soon enough his laughter cuts through the air, rumbling and loud. The paladins at the back join in quiet snickers, and even Lotor allows his poise to break in favor of a good moment.

“Come then, Takashi, let’s go find the carriage with your clothes, and get you ready for Altea.” Lotor gives the reins a short snap, and his horse hurries forward. When Shiro doesn’t instantly follow, he turns to look over his shoulder. “Well- are you coming or what?”

“Oh, I’m going alright, calm your impatient ass, will you.” And with the barest touch of heels at his horse’s sides, he’s catching up with the prince. Lotor’s frown as Shiro takes the lead is almost worth the sparkly silks he’ll have to get into for their game. Sincline might be a stunning horse- his white, almost silver mane matching the prince’s, a rarity amongst friesian stallions- but Black’s certainly the fastest one in the kingdom. 

“Loser has to gift the winner an Earldom!” Shiro’s voice dances with mirth as he calls over his shoulder, and Black wins them both another breadth ahead. A growl makes his way to Shiro’s ear, and he laughs once more.

Although Shiro and Lotor’s bantering doesn’t stop, the rest of the trip is goes without a hitch. Around midday they stop by the riverside to have a quick bite and let the horses rest, while the rest of the party moves forward to set up camp for that one night before they part ways with the bulk of the company, and can pick up the pace. 

As per tradition, the prince and princess will meet alone- with their personal knights and a small court, of course, to ensure their safety, and their  _ honor _ \- in the princess’ land. They’ll be granted four days to get acquainted with one another, and then they’ll have another three days to travel together to where the wedding will be held.

For Altean and Galran weddings, that place was Feyiv. A small city at the Eastern end of the kingdoms border and Oriande’s mountains, where it is said both their people were born a millenia ago.

So after a last night where Lotor will be reminded of his duties as prince and future husband King and Queen will leave to meet with Altea’s sovereigns, and wait for their heirs with everything prepared for the ceremony.

-

Altea is a place as beautiful as real life places are allowed to be, and then some. The city itself is stunning, twisting and climbing the highest peaks of Oriande’s mountains,. Shiro is sure the whole landscape turned a little bit greener and more alive the moment they crossed the borders.

As they take the path up, they are greeted with colorful rooftops on quaint houses, and hanging gardens on each of them. Flowers and fruit trees grow on the sides of the road, and there are birds singing in every one of them. It’s the place bards sing fairy tales about. People in the streets stop to greet them, and there are even children running up to them with little presents. It’s positively enchanting. 

And then so is he.

Shiro sees him before he sees anything else. Not the marble castle behind, with the imposing stairs and the pink flower petals covering them, nor the welcoming party with a handful of Altea’s soldiers in the ceremonial golden plates, nor the court ladies that soon become a blur in Shiro’s peripheral vision. All his senses focused on one person straight ahead of them, the stoic man at the princess’ side, whose eyes seem to be boring into Shiro.

His armor is different from those around them, dark and almost black if it weren’t for the deep plum flicker that appears when he shifts to murmur something in the princess’ ear. The crest on it is different as well, nothing like the things Shiro’s read about back in Daibazaal’s library. He can discern a blade on it, and something coiling around it he can’t figure out from this distance. 

At Shiro’s side, Lotor clears his throat, and he snaps out of his reverie with a sudden jerk of his head towards the prince. The prince… oh. He’s the prince now. His face is probably broadcasting his every thought, because Lotor’s eyes sit on him with an understanding and almost pitiful look. And thank the Gods, but Shiro is lucky the gorgeous man was right next to the princess, for if he’s done the part of a dumbstruck fool, then he has at least done it in the right direction.

Right. Okay. He’s- he’s the prince now, and there’s protocol to follow here. Shiro knows what to do, has lived in the palace long enough to have learned it. He can do this. It’ll be just a couple of days, that was the promise; allow Lotor the moment to know the princess without the pressure of the crown, without the expectations both of them will have of the other, and then Shiro can take the silks off, and go back to the armor he favours. The spot a step behind Lotor he much rather be in.

“Prince,” Lotor calls, already dismounted and by his side, holding Black’s rein in his hand. There’s a small waggle of eyebrows, reminding Shiro he’ll have to eventually hop off as well.

-

“Princess Allura.” Lotor is one step ahead of him this time, head bowed far lower than he’s used to. Shiro’s eyes fall on the silver hair on his friend’s head, the lock that slips out of place and over his face when he looks up at the woman in front of them, and Shiro’s eyes follow up, to hers as well. They’re the clearest blue, her hair the softest white. It’s like watching a piece of the sky above them smiling down at him. “Allow me to introduce, His Royal Highness, Prince Lotor of Daibazaal.” He wonders if Lotor’s seeing the same thing.

“Princess.” Shiro takes the delicate hand in front of him, brushing a kiss across her lithe fingers. “It is an honor to finally meet you.”

“The honor is all mine, Prince Lotor.” She giggles, soft and sweet, and when her hand moves again to find her dress to lean in a courtesy, Shiro catches sight of the knight once more. “I’ve heard  _ so much _ about you.” As opposed to the princess’, the knight’s eyes are the night sky. Piercing purple like Shiro’s never seen; stars and galaxies, judging his very soul.

“Only good things, I would hope.” Shiro manages to find his voice, succeeds in not flinching under the knight's boring stare, and gifts his most dashing smile to the princess. He can swear the man shifts next to her, but doesn’t dare look away from his pretend-wife-to-be.

A moment goes by, the longest Shiro can remember in his life so far, where Allura’s musical giggle surrounds them, and a flush pinks her cheeks. Lotor is impossibly still next to Shiro, and his one silver lining is to imagine the prince is as affected by her beauty as Shiro is by the man beside her. At the very least, he can hope they will both suffer over this stupid idea. 

“Of course. Always.” The princess shakes her head, and offers her arm. Shiro does well in taking it without a second thought, his right hand reaching back for Lotor as the princess walks them up the stairs.

“This is a present from my mother, Queen Honerva. She was hoping you’d wear it in the ceremony, Princess.” Shiro offers the small box that was placed on his hand. Allura manages to open it without letting go of him, her nimble fingers working the bow loose with ease.

“Oh, but it’s precious!” She coos, Shiro smiles appreciatively. He has not a clue what the box holds, but she seems to find it of her liking, because she calls one of her ladies over, who gushes over it with the excitement Shiro has only ever seen in women nearing wedding time.

They cross the threshold to the palace hall, Allura and her lady sharing hushed words ahead, and Shiro dares look back. He’s searching for Lotor’s reassuring presence, he tells himself, but his friend’s gaze is lost with the princess, and he finds the knight’s eyes instead. A shiver runs up his spine with the unmistakable feeling of having been caught. 

The doors close behind them, Gods what has he gotten himself into.

-

“If I may have a word with you, Princess?” Keith interrupts the conversation before he can listen to another second of  _ King Alfor this, Queen Honerva that, _ and just  _ how beautiful Altea is, never as precious as its princess of course _ . Gah, what do they even teach Princes growing up? He shakes himself out of his rising annoyance, Allura’s eyes sitting on him, expectant. “The- uh, chef, wishes to consult with you for dinner.”

“Oh?” Allura frowns in confusion for just a moment, a second where Keith pleas in his mind for her to look away from the infuriatingly good looking prince that has arrived at their door. She doesn’t. Keith can’t blame her. “Well, Romelle can deal with that.” And he has no time to object before Romelle is hopping into action, ever the best of ladies, and making her way to the kitchens. 

He has half a mind to follow the girl and let her know it was a lie, but that would mean to leave the princess alone with the men, and Keith has no intention of doing that. There’s something rotten smelling here, and Keith’s nose for trouble has never failed him before. His eyes tighten on the knight standing on the pillar by the couple, Shiro he’s been told is the man’s name. 

He’s far too comfortable, his posture much too languid and carefree for any knight, Galra or otherwise. A finger toying with a lock of hair he keeps impractically loose, as if nothing were more important, even when his eyes hardly leave Allura. That man reeks of trouble, and Keith will find out what’s going on here.

Keith doesn’t look at the prince. There’s nothing for him to decipher there. The man is overly polite, if a bit clumsy, but seems harmless enough, and that’s all.

“I’ve heard you’ve only been back in Altea for a few months, princess.” Prince Lotor’s words pull Keith from his glaring at the knight. 

And alright,  _ he does look _ . He can’t not look. The man’s voice is deep and rich, the lips moving around it look soft, full, and constantly hinting at the gentlest smile Keith has ever seen in a royal. Aside from Allura, and maybe King Alfor. And maybe Keith’s eyes drop to the wide shoulders under the deep mauve cape, to the flex of his arms and how they strain the fabric of those ridiculous robes. Eyes were made for looking, and Keith lies to himself, saying it’s only with the princess’ best interest in mind. Yes, it’s just that.

“Distracted much, little Blade?” Keith jumps at the drawl, hand already at the hilt of his knife, when he finds the Galran knight next to him. The man’s eyes are far too knowing, and Keith has just met him, but already he wants to wipe that smirk from his face. With a fist if possible.

“You’re one to talk.” He counters, sounding a little like a child, because he had indeed been caught staring at his princess’ betrothed. And because he doesn’t trust the man. He inches closer, smirk curling higher to one side, lips parting to say something. Keith’s fingers itch.

“Is there a problem?” Allura’s voice cuts through their escalating tension, worried and hinting at reprimands. Keith takes a step away from the knight, hand dropping back at his side.

“No, Princess.” He bows an apology. “Everything’s alright.”

“Shiro?” Prince Lotor asks, Keith catches the look the two of them share, tries so desperately to decipher it.

“Sure. Yeah.” This Shiro answers, and Keith can barely hold the gasp at the way he blatantly disregards his prince with a shrug. Prince Lotor seems disoriented for a moment, and Keith’s sure Allura blushes. What th-

“Princess.” Romelle is back, unknowingly diverting the attention. “Dinner is served. Princess, Prince Lotor.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Allura stands with a joyous clap, fixing her dress, the moment just passed already forgotten. “Come my prince, let’s eat so you can rest. The trip must’ve been so tiresome.”

“You’re much too gracious, princess.” Keith watches them go, confused.

“ _ You. _ ” His arm is out on its own, stopping the knight on his tracks. Keith pushes a hand to his chest, making the man walk back a couple of steps. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I would watch it if I were you.”

And to Keith’s utter disbelief, the man’s face slips into a mask of cool and collected. It’s almost soft, he thinks, in a way that speaks of someone who’s had a lifetime of practice in it. “Don’t you worry, little Blade.” His voice has lost all the edge, barely a silky drawl. Keith’s stunned at the abrupt change, and it takes him a couple of seconds to follow.

Oh, but he’ll find out what’s going on here.

-

When the first morning in Altea arrives, Shiro has almost forgotten the mess he’s gotten himself into. He knows he’s an early riser, so he takes a moment to roll over in bed, and watch the intricate design of the canopy, how the figurines seem to tell a tale as they wrap around the wood. His fingers trace one in particular; a man with a blade he seems to recognize from somewhere. And then it hits him. Keith, the knight. Princess Allura, Lotor. 

Oh, damn. 

Shiro flops back into bed with a groan, wondering how much Lotor would hate him if he were to back out now, in the dawn of the first date. He probably wouldn’t, Lotor and him go way back, long before either of them can remember, and that is exactly what has Shiro hopping off of the bed with renewed resolution. It wasn’t so terrible, really.

Even if he didn’t think this was the best of plans, he could understand Lotor’s intentions, sort of. It had certainly not easy for him to grow up under the pressure and expectations someone like King Zarkon put on his shoulders. Even Shiro had felt it, growing up next to the prince. So what if this was Lotor’s last grand act of rebellion before the wedding? So long as the wedding was still on by the end of the fourth day, it would all be alright. Because if they somehow managed to leave Altea unscatched, but arrived at Feyiv without a bride, Zarkon was going to have their heads.

And well, Shiro had endured far worse in his quest to become the man he was today. His eyes went to his right arm on instinct, hand flexing the muscles into motion. This too, he owed to Lotor. A couple of visits with princess Allura were the least he could do. It couldn’t be so bad after all.

-

It wasn’t so bad, but it was certainly awkward.

When Shiro’s finally ready to face the day, looking through the chest of clothes Lotor has commissioned for him- and just how long has his friend been concocting this he doesn’t know, but there’s a bigger array of things than Shiro knows what to do with- there’s a knock at the door.

“Prince Lotor.” A young voice calls from the other side of the door, and soon enough Shiro finds himself facing a page struggling to balance a breakfast tray. 

“Hey there, let me help you.” He relieves the boy of the weight, waving the page’s attempt at arguing, and placing it on the table by the window.

“That was not needed, sire.” The kid shifts on his spot for a moment, and then rushes to open the curtains. Shiro knows it’s unusual, but he’s also sure he’s not the first prince- well- to help a page out. He’s seen Lotor do it more than enough times as well. Lotor has done it with him enough times.

“It cost me nothing to do it, though.” He smiles, gently, the boy smiles back albeit hesitantly. “What’s your name?”

“Zane, sire.” He answers with some pride, fixing the bed now. “Just like my dad.”  _ Ah _ . “Oh, Princess Allura wishes the breakfast is to your liking, sire.” The page seems to remember himself after a second, Shiro eyes the tray knowing he will. He’s not picky. “But if you want something different, I can go get it for you, sire.”

“Just, Sh-  _ Lotor. _ Just call me Lotor, okay?” Shiro asks with a wince. If there’s something he’s sure he won’t survive, it is the honorifics. He has trouble with his title as it is, no matter how hard-earned it was.

“I- I don’t think, can I really, sire? Lotor? Sorry.” The boy stumbles through his words, and Shiro finds it adorable.

“Of course.” Shiro takes a seat, picking up a strip of meat from his plate to give his hands something to do in all. “Tell you what, you pick me the best outfit in that chest, because you’re probably really good at knowing what the princess likes,” He offers the boy a task, remembering how good it felt to be trusted with such things. “and we’ll pretend I’m not the prince, okay? We’ll be friends.”

Zane’s smile as he nodded rapidly was adorable, and soon he was head first in the chest, carefully pulling out an ensemble for the day.

-

“He did what?” Keith asks for the third time, pacing the back of the stables where he’s asked Zane to meet him.

“He said we could be friends.” The boy repeats with a roll of his eyes, and if it weren’t because Keith adores him as kin- and that he’d been exactly the same growing up- he’d swat him over the head for the unwarranted sauce.

“Not that, the other thing.” He takes a seat on a pack of hay, hands on Zane’s shoulders, eyes intent on the boy, as if he could read the events on his face. “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”

“Keith!” Zane groans, head falling back in clear annoyance. “I told you so many times already!”

“One more time, Zane, I’ll give you the practice blade for the day.” Keith waves the small wood replica of his luxite one, the boy’s eyes following. He puts his little hand out, and Keith hands it over, but just as he relaxes, Zane grips onto it and squirms out of Keith’s grasp. And runs away. “Hey, you little rascal!” Keith hurries behind him.

“He said we could be friends! And he doesn’t like clothes picking. And we could pretend he wasn’t the prince. And he likes the blueberry jam pastry. Just like you do.  _ Puaj! _ ” Zane calls over his shoulder, crawling under the stable doors where Keith doesn’t fit anymore.

“You’re lucky I like you, kid!” Keith yells an empty threat at the retreating shape of the page. He’ll make a good Blade when the time comes. Shaking his head, Keith makes his way back to the castle, he has to walk Allura to her date after all. He does not think of the prince, and how kind the man was to Zane.

-

The date’s… well, the date is as good of a date as it can be in Shiro’s mind, considering he’s not the person he’s supposed to be, the princess seems far more interested in the man that  _ will _ be her husband in a couple of days, her knight is trying to kill Lotor with his gaze, and Lotor- Lotor seems intent in driving all of them mad. Shiro the first.

They are at a clearing on the far end of the palace gardens. Trees and shrubbery surrounds them, hiding them from the outside and creating the image of being in a forest, when they’re well within the mountain the castle’s carved into. The soft shades of green from the plants, and the splattering of color from the flowers, make it like pulled from one of the paintings that decorate Queen Honerva’s studio. 

Shiro and Allura are seated in the middle of the clearing, a blanket underneath, and an array of food on it. The perfect image of a couple on a picnic. It’s peaceful.

Or it would be, if it weren’t for  _ his knight _ , and the man’s inability to behave in the role he’d assigned himself.

“Okay, enough!” Shiro cuts through Lotor’s current tale of adventures that weren’t Shiro’s to begin with, and that even if they make the princess laugh, he does not appreciate. His voice holds a sharpness he’s seldom used in his life, and can’t help the way his face contorts at the fact that no matter how good friends he and Lotor are, the man’s still Shiro’s prince. And in some part of his mind, the role he’s playing clashes with his real one. “Don’t you have something else you should be doing?”

“You know what,” To his credit, Lotor’s face remains impassible, the man even smiles, a curve of his lips that’s always spelled pride to Shiro. “I absolutely do.” He pats Shiro’s shoulder with confidence a knight wouldn’t have, not in public at least. “I’ll be off then. Princess, your company has been a delight.”

Shiro doesn’t have to turn to know Lotor has bowed and winked, and that the princess is once again blushing. Some part of him is tempted to drag Lotor through the grass for putting Shiro up to this, and then behave like a horny teenager.

He has to admit, though, when he called Lotor out, he wasn’t expecting the man to up and leave. Shiro’s not sure what else the prince can entertain himself with, alone in the palace, but he finds his body relaxing when it’s just him and the princess. And the knight. It’s far easier to work around the lies when he doesn’t have to guard his back from Lotor’s prods and teasings.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” valet shows up in the clearing not long after Lotor leaves, face flushed, as if he’s run all the way up there. “There’s a messenger with a note from your parents, he’s to wait for your reply.”

“Oh, of course.” She leaves the little tart she’d been entertaining back on the plate, Shiro’s up in an instant, hand out to help the princess to her feet, she gifts him a smile. “I’m sorry we have to cut this short, my prince, but I must get to this note.”

“By all means, princess, there’s no need to apologise.” Behind them, the knight moves closer, and the valet hurries to start packing everything back in the basket.

“Oh but-” Allura’s voice cuts all movement just as Shiro’s offering his arm to escort her back. “You should stay.” Her eyes find Shiro’s, both hands holding one of his. “Please, do enjoy this place for a moment longer. I wouldn’t forgive myself for drawing you away, when all I have to offer is watching me write a letter to my parents.”

Maybe the plea is slightly exaggerated, and perhaps Shiro can see the way the knight frowns at the princess’ words as well, and that should tell him something. But maybe her eyes are too earnest, and Shiro really wants to sit back down and eat some bread without having to worry where the crumbs will fall, maybe even take a nap under the trees. And take the damned cape off. Shiro doesn’t know how Lotor does it, but the thing’s so much heavier than his.

“Thank you, princess, you are far too gracious.” He answers with ease, aided by the promise of some rest from the acting. Shiro takes Allura’s hand to his lips, brushing a kiss goodbye.

“Okay then,” she turns to them. “Linus, walk with me, Keith,” the young man hops to his feet, the knight stands straighter. “stay with prince Lotor.” Both Shiro and the knight part their lips to object, but the princess merely smiles, and Shiro doesn’t know her much, but he can tell there’s no arguing with that. “We can’t have him getting lost on the way back.”

And then it’s just him and the knight, and Shiro’s spine straightens for a whole other set of reasons.

-

Keith has never before seen a prince so panicked about being left alone.

The moment Allura disappears through the trees, the man’s shoulders do a weird dance of dropping and straightening a couple of times, as if he’s unsure whether or not he can relax. Keith can’t see from the angle, and the ridiculously large cape, but he’s sure the prince is fidgeting with his hands as well. It’s like watching a fish just out of the water, and Keith has to wonder if this man’s entire life has been scripted and controlled by someone else.

That would be entirely too sad to know. Keith catches that train of thought and pushes it away with a huff, before it turns into something else. As if he cares. The prince will marry Allura in a week, and if he needs a puppeteer, well- actually if he does, then he’s not the right prince for her.

It’s then that he realizes the man’s eyes are on him, and Keith finds himself rooted to the spot. He knows he’s supposed to look away at some point- sooner rather than later. Out of respect, and also because the grey in those eyes is making the chestplate feel tighter around his ribs by the second. 

But a moment goes by, and then another, and neither is breaking the stare, and Keith’s skeptical at best about the Gods above, but if this prince isn’t both a blessing and a curse, and his own personal test, then he doesn’t know what this is.

He’s so done-for. Spellbound, searching for the meaning of his existence in the silvered eyes ahead, the clear-cut of the man’s jawline, and that white streak of hair that gets lost in the thick black hair. Just like Keith would like his fingers to do.

“I, um- I don’t mind it if you wish to go.” The prince speaks but it takes a moment for Keith’s brain to register, and then another until he can understand the words and form an answer.

“No. I-” He winces at the rashness of his response, clears his throat and tries again. “Allura, the princess, asked me to stay and that’s what I must do.” 

For a second, there’s a ghost of a smile on the prince’s lips, and then it’s gone. The man sits back down on the ground- more like flops to it, really- and Keith thinks he might be able to do this after all. If he keeps to the side, settles his hands on his back, and straightens his back… Formality- much as it’s always been the bane of his training- is something he can do. Something he can always rely on to make him pull through whatever tense moment.

“Sir Kogane,” the prince calls not a minute after, and Keith feels electricity run up his spine at how his name falls from the man’s lips. His eyes close briefly, as he wishes it would be his given name though, and what a dumb wish to have. “Please come sit with me. It’s just the two of us, and I sincerely doubt there’s something here that might require your alertness.”

“I, sire, I shouldn’t.” He really shouldn’t. Keith should actually be walking several miles in whichever direction away from the prince, and the way the man’s eyes plead with him to say yes. There’s ideas in Keith’s brain, things he imagines happening once he’s down on the grass next to the prince. Things he can’t do, and that he shouldn’t even allow himself to think, but he does anyway, because at least those thoughts are just his.

“I insist. I’d order it if it were necessary, but I would sure hope my company isn’t as horrible to have to do it.” And he’ll comply, because Keith knows there’s a reason he doesn’t trust this whole series of events, but the man on the picnic blanket looks positively lost and insecure, and Keith has the need to reassure him.

Keith doesn’t  _ know _ him, but of course his company isn’t horrible. He’s been nothing but gentle so far, amicable, treating Zane so nicely that very same morning, and very much betrothed to Allura. Keith has to remind himself that every couple of thoughts, to keep his mind in check. He sits.

“Thank you.” The prince smiles, and it’s devastating how beautifully his face lights up with it. Something breaks in Keith’s chest, but he ignores it, and manages a nod. Maybe they can be friends.

The silence that follows, especially after the loud anecdotes shared only a moment prior, leaves Keith very aware of the loud pounding of his heart. He knows it’s not possible for the prince to hear, but he fears it nonetheless. He’s never been one to mind quiet, nor to strike up conversation. Usually, as long as Keith can go about his day without being forced to be chatty, the better. Except now he wants to, he finds himself scouting his mind for something to say, a question to ask, biting his lips to keep his mouth from opening and closing like a fish with dumb ideas.

“The sky here is beautiful.” It’s the prince the one to break the silence at last, Keith’s trying to find something to add, his mouth too dry to answer right away. Especially as the man removes the cape to roll it into a makeshift pillow, and lay on the grass, and Keith’s cursed with watching him stretch on the ground. The flex of his arms tucked under his head should not be allowed, least of all possible.

“The sky?” Is his oh-so-eloquent response. To Keith’s relief, the prince is indeed charming, because he says nothing of it, and continues as if his has been a valid question.

“It’s not like this in Daibazaal. I know it must sound silly, but here it’s- clearer.” Keith looks up, makes himself a little more comfortable, legs stretched out, hands holding him up behind his back. He considers the sky, thinks of other places he’s been.

“Maybe it’s the mountains.” He offers at last, and the smile he’s regaled with makes his fix his gaze straight upwards.

“Maybe. The stars are so bright at night, too.” The prince’s voice is low, wistful. Keith wants to lure more of it out, but doesn’t dare move even. He doesn’t have to, because for whatever reason, the man keeps on talking. “When I was little, the sky looked just like that where I lived.”

“I used to watch the stars every night with-” Keith manages to catch a shadow of pain cross the man’s face, but it’s gone as soon as it came. “Honerva taught me the name of the stars and constellations, afterwards, the planets too. She says they have powers, and I don’t know if it’s true or not, but she’s always had a bit of magic in herself, if you ask me.” 

“Alfor always said so about Queen Honerva.” Keith adds, because he’s heard that many times while growing up. 

“Yeah,” The prince’s right hand stretches up above him, hand flexing for a moment, and moving to rest across his stomach. Keith follows the movement. “I’m not sure if it’s magic or not, but there has to be something else up there. I’m almost sure of it.”

“That sounds kind of terrifying.” Keith whispers, knees pulled tight to his chest, cheek resting against them. “Amazing and terrifying.” Somehow this moment seems quieter than the silence before, and he fears to break the chasm.

“Amazing and terrifying.” The prince returns his words, a lot softer this time, and Keith watches the way his eyes close, and his breathing becomes slower. Peaceful.

-

“So I heard you and the prince get along well?” Allura’s voice holds a dreg of mischief Keith’s not sure he can understand, but he shakes his head at her, not always being able to understand how that mind of hers works.

“We  _ got _ along fine, all things considered, sure.” Keith shrugs, ignoring the way his face threatens to warm at the memory of the picnic. He won’t, for a moment, make Allura uncomfortable over his dumb heart’s cravings. “He’ll sure make a good husband.” He adds for good measure.

“Oh, good.” Her face does a funny thing then, a hand waving Keith’s answer in the air, and if Keith didn’t know her better, he’d think she’s forgotten the wedding at the end of the week. It’s probably the nerves, he thinks. “Well, I’m glad you did, then, because I want to ask you for a favor.”

She’s smiling that coy curve of her lips that will get Keith to jump of a cliff for her, and so he steels himself for what’s to come next. He must do so with a face too, because she’s rolling her eyes playfully at him.

“It’s nothing too grave, Keith. You just have to go with him see the needleworker.” Of course this isn’t the first time he and Allura disagree on whether or not something’s grave, but this is just beyond his ability to debate with her about. At least not without a long and mortifying conversation beforehand.

“So I have to babysit him, then?” His posture stiffs, arms crossing over his chest defensively. 

“It’s not  _ babysitting _ , Keith.” Allura tries to laugh his pout away, catching his eyes through the mirror as Romelle fixes her hair for the day. “The prince is very much an adult, and all you have to do is keep him company during his fitting. See if he needs something, that’s all.”

“Uh huh, and why can’t  _ his  _ loyal knight do it, then?” Keith’s pout becomes a full-on frown, just the mention of the other knight irks him. He can’t pinpoint what unnerves him the most about him, but Allura isn’t listening to Keith’s objections, and he has no evidence of anything, other than the man’s clear disregard of rules and protocol.

Not that Keith’s a fanatic, especially not with how he’s allowed so much freedom by Allura. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Keith has lived in this palace for years, he’s served the princess for just as long, and if he can bend the rules around how the two of them interact then it’s due to those very things. He does not like how the Galran knight behaves, and he certainly does not like how he acts with Allura.

“Because he’s otherwise busy. And before you ask, no, I don’t know with what, I haven’t asked.” She points at a particular curl that’s not staying put, and Romelle moves to fix it up. “But maybe you can use the moment and talk to the prince, clear up your doubts.”

Keith can do it, of course he can, he’s dealt with truly pain in the ass royals before. Just last month King Alfor asked him to keep Lord Slav’s twins occupied while they dealt with some negotiations. The kids were a menace; loud, unruly and with an unhealthy obsession for superstition they’d picked up from their father. Keith couldn’t blame Alfor for wanting them away from court, it was enough to deal with one Slav at a time.

“Pretty please, Keithy?” He doesn’t know when Allura moved next to him, too busy brooding against the door, but she does that thing with her sweet sweet voice, and it’s not like Keith has a way to refuse. He technically  _ can’t _ refuse, she’s the princess, and he swore to obey her, but he knows Allura will let him choose regardless. Which of course only makes it harder for him to say no.

“Yes, of course, Princess.” Keith pushes himself away from the wall, falling into a practiced stance, nods a bow to her, and now it’s her turn to pout.

“Oh, don’t do that.” Allura pushes a finger to his cheek, poking until she pulls a smile from Keith smile. A very, so very reluctant smile. “I’ll reward you, yes?”

“Sure, ‘llura, don’t worry.” It’s not like he’ll actually ask for something, she brightens up, and presses a kiss to his cheek. And it’s all Keith really wants, after all, for her to be happy. And if he has to spend some more time with the prince, well, his heart be damned, but he’ll do it.

“I liked the hair down better.” Keith comments as he leaves, just to mess with her.

“Oh, told you so, Ro! Now we’ll have to start again.” He doesn’t stay to listen to the huff he knows will come from the other side, but takes to the hall with a small smile. That is until he finds the man of the hour in apparent distress outside of his bedchamber.

-

“I just don’t understand what the point of me fitting for clothes I won’t ever use is?” It’s the morning of their second day in Altea, and Shiro is currently openly whining on the bed, whatever modicum of pride he ever held, has long left hum. Lotor lounges on the windowsill, toying with a half eaten pear, and Shiro’s patience.

“Because the princess has gifted you with a lovely outfit, and you’re a well-mannered prince that will graciously accept the present, Takashi.” He says in that lackadaisical tone Shiro has always both envied and found most annoying.

“They’re a gift for you!” Shiro accuses, hands thrown up in the air.

“Yet I can’t really go get that tunic measured, now can I?” If he closes his eyes, he can place this very same scenario into the many other times Lotor has put him up to his shenanigans. All that’s missing right now is Queen Honerva’s lady calling them to the dining hall before the woman herself walked up to their rooms to drag them out. For a moment such a fear settles in his chest before he remembers they’re grown men now. Not that they’re behaving as such, but- “That would defeat the whole purpose of this swap, wouldn't it, Takashi? Plus, you could do with a new set of fancy robes.”

“And when, pray tell, will I have use for such a thing?” Shiro flops over his stomach, elbows pushing him up to be able to catch his friend’s gaze.

“At a party?” Lotor takes another bite of the pear, humming contentedly. His eyes sit on Shiro’s. He can see the moment the thought enters Lotor’s brain, the minute hitch of his lips into a mischievous smile that has always landed them in trouble.

“Don’t.” Shiro threatens, and buries his face on the fur covers.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Takashi dear.” He hears Lotor move, and not a second later the bed’s dipping with the added weight next to him. Lotor yanks at Shiro’s hair until he’s looking up from his hiding spot. “I just think a certain someone might like to see you in them.” 

Shiro lets out a dragged groan. He won’t allow Lotor this. Nope. They are not fifteen anymore, and he won’t manage to get Shiro all flustered over the cute stable boy again. Or the princess’ knight. No, this isn’t happening.

Especially since Shiro doesn’t need Lotor’s very much unnecessary input on this to get flustered over the knight. Not since they arrived at the palace, and his heart decided those violet eyes were everything it needed to live. And specifically not since the conversation both of them had the previous day, after Shiro woke up flustered from his impromptu nap, and apologised around fifteen times to the knight. He was not thinking of the adorable flush that welcomed him back to consciousness. No, not at all.

“Come on, get up,  _ your highness _ , you don’t want to be late and upset the needleworker, now, do you?” Lotor’s hand pushes on Shiro’s back to hoist himself off the bed, but before he manages, Shiro’s gripping on his ankle, and making him stumble off. “You’re a child, Takashi.” The prince huffs, all his teasing leading him to end up a heap on the floor, and it might be petty, but that puts a smile on Shiro’s face.

“Takes one to know one.” Shiro pokes his tongue at him, not bothering to worry about how poorly the both of them behave on a daily basis. “Plus, he might like me better in my knight clothes, don’t you think?”  _ Darn _ , he shouldn’t have said that. 

“I knew it!” Lotor’s up in a gasp, eyes widened and lips stretched in a wicked grin. Shiro’s a moron. “Not that you’ve been any good at hiding it, with him or anyone else, really. Yet it’s so much sweeter to hear it from you.”

“Yes, well-” The prince rests his arms on the bed, chin propped on his hands, while Shiro scrambles to get out of the room before the man can get another word in. “Oh,  _ shut up! _ ” 

Lotor’s laughter follows him out of the room. Shiro presses his back to the wall, eyes closed to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts. He really should stop giving Lotor material to use against him.

There’s a throat being cleared next to him, and Shiro’s grateful he opens his eyes before snapping, because there’s Keith in the hallway, so very beautiful in his plate, and the sun filtering through the stained glass from the high windows.

“Prince Lotor, sire, are you alright?” His voice is softer today, there’s visible worry in the way his eyes tighten, and brows furrow. Shiro battles the urge of doing something as stupid as run his thumb between them to ease the tension away. If anything, that name on his lips, that’s not his, helps.

“Yes,” he shakes his head, and squares his shoulders. “Yes, just- a lot on my mind, that’s all.” Shiro smiles reassuringly. “Is there something you needed?”

-

Getting clothes measured is… well, it’s annoying, of that much Keith is sure. In his entire life he can’t recall a single moment where he’s enjoyed it. When he was a kid his mother struggled with him to get a new set of anything, going as far as blackmailing him with a sparring session, or some horse riding if he behaved for the needleworker. It worked, for the most part.

As an adult, and particularly when he finally entered the Blades, he had to get new outfits whenever the King or Queen deemed it necessary; be it for a special event, for a change in the color scheme- of which Queen Melenor was a fan of- or just because a fight had messed his current ones up.

Now tunics as fancy as the one the prince was currently getting measured for, he’s never had use for them, but he’d seen Alfor stand still for a lot longer than he could’ve put up with, and Keith was sure that alone made him never want to do it. 

The prince on the other hand, was as stoic as the next marble statue. And he was as beautifully chiseled as one as well. Not that Keith was looking, he definitely wasn’t; arms crossed over his chest, and eyes anywhere but on the man’s broad chest. Pants are all he’s wearing right now, and a sleeve on his right arm, that goes from wrist to mid bicep. It might pick at Keith’s interest. And why is he shirtless anyway? Wasn’t this supposed to be  _ robes _ measurement? 

Keith’s chest rises and falls with deep breaths that have nothing to do with the amount of skin and muscles on display. Or the lovely pink flush on the prince’s cheeks whenever Keith’s eyes happen to move- completely unintended- over to his face. Surely the flush is not to do with him either, so he ought to quiet whatever the hell is fluttering in his chest.

This is princess Allura’s husband-to-be, Keith’s own prince in less than a week, his King in some future- oh, Gods no, let them go and rule in Galra, so that Keith can recover from this ridiculous crush. Surely one of King Alfor’s nephews can be the new Altean sovereign. Keith also doesn’t pray for that to happen, because all of this is beyond stupid, and at some point his heart will stop bruising the inside of his ribs.

“I’m sorry this is taking forever,” the prince’s voice cuts through the silence when the needleworker leaves to his table for the fourth time. Keith takes a deep breath that he holds in, before turning his gaze to address the man.

“I’m used to it.” Keith doesn’t shrug, because that would be unbecoming of him, but he stands straighter, as if to make it a point that he’s not by any means tired. He also doesn’t say the prince needn’t apologise, Keith’s learned the day before in the failed picnic that amends fall from the man’s lips every couple of words, whether they make sense or not.

He also doesn’t think of the day before, and the way the prince had laid down on the grass, his cape a makeshift pillow, and spoken about the sky. Talked about stars and constellations, and had a pocket of affection carved its way into Keith’s heart. And he definitely doesn’t think about how stunning he looked when his eyes fluttered closed, and he allowed his face to relax. The way the lines of his face lost the tension, and he looked so much younger and carefree.

The needleworker returns with cloth at last, covering the prince up, and allowing Keith some room to clear his mind, and properly breathe again. And luckily, there’s nothing much to do after that. Some pins here and there, marking the important places, put the prince back in his own clothes again, and they are finally free to leave.

Except Allura is still busy with her own fitting, and the knight- Shiro- is nowhere to be found, and thus Keith is bound to keep the prince company. They are currently walking aimlessly around Queen Melenor’s rose garden. The prince is quiet, and Keith wishes he could strike up a conversation, but he’s still replaying the words from the previous day in his head, his heart stuttering an uneven beat.

It’s probably for the best, Keith tries to convince himself. Any prince is beyond his reach, and this one in particular is completely forbidden to top it off.

“The blade.” Keith whips his head around far too quickly, making the prince halt in his spot, startled. He blushes, and looks away, throat clearing before asking again. “On your plate, the blade in the crest, what does it mean?”

“Oh.” Keith’s hand goes to trace it thoughtlessly, and he sees the prince’s eyes follow the movement, blush deepening. He tries so hard not to read into it. He also fails so miserably at it. “It’s- I’m-  _ damn _ . Sorry.” He shakes his head to clear it from stupidity. “Do you want to take a seat?” Keith offers to give himself a moment.

The prince follows to the nearest bench, and Keith is endeared at how he struggles to sit comfortably with the robe and cape. How does this man survive on a daily basis? Do they dress so differently in Daibazaal?

“Um.” Prince Lotor shifts in his spot and Keith realises he’s still standing, and staring. And has forgotten the initial reason they are sitting now. Right, the blade. He hurries to sit, leaving what he hopes is a respectable amount of space between them.

“The Blade is an order of knighthood. Military order, as old as Altea. We serve the royal family first and foremost, personal guards, bearers of their secrets, some have even worked as spies in times of war.” Keith isn’t sure how much to tell, and even if most of the order’s work is secret, the man’s bound to know sooner rather than later, so he sees no harm in doing some skimming over it.

The prince is listening in attentive silence, interest clear as the day in his eyes. “My mother did that for most of my childhood. She’s King Alfor’s Blade now, and I’m Allura’s.” Keith can’t help the pride that seeps into his voice as he talks about his mom. He never can, she’s the best Blade in his eyes, will always be his role model, no matter how much she says he’s better than her already.

“So it’s hereditary?” The prince asks, and Keith’s face must do something, because the next words out of his lips are an apology. Again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply- I don’t. Galra don’t have such a thing.”

“It’s okay.” Keith waves away, because he looks genuinely sorrowful. “But it’s not. There’s trials to go through to become one. I took them, at age sixteen, and have been working my way up since. There’s no higher rank unless I take over for my mother, or Sir Kolivan, the queen’s Blade.”

“It sounds like a lot of work and training.” Keith can’t decipher what’s going on in the prince’s head, but he looks contemplative for a moment, staring away towards the palace. 

Keith follows the line of his neck up to the lashes that too have a splash of white the same as his hair. When the prince turns back towards Keith, there’s nowhere he can hide the fact that he’s been staring, so he just braves it.

“Can anyone join then? Not only Alteans, if- going through the trials of course.” The question is the last thing Keith’s expecting, and he can’t imagine where it’s coming from, but it seems important. Far more than it should be, for a man that’s to be king one day.

“Yes. Anyone.” He answers, storing his own questions for later, when he can talk to Allura again, or his mother. “The trials aren’t easy, though.”

“I wouldn’t expect them to be.” The comment comes with a determined glow in his eyes, and toothy smile he wants to store for later as well, and that haunts Keith until he falls asleep that night. And not that he’d admit it, but trickles into his dreams as well.

-

“The princess is unwell.” Zane tells Shiro when he brings the breakfast tray, and he’s on his feet in a moment, but Lotor’s hand pushes him back to the chair.

“Unwell how, kid?” Lotor asks, and Zane’s eyes go from one man to the other, until Shiro nods, and he speaks.

“Lady Romelle said- the princess is feeling under the weather, nothing some cold presses and bed rest won’t fix, there’s no need for the prince to worry, and he- you- can go visit the market, her knight will join him if he wants.” The boy’s words sound like he was made to repeat them out loud several times before he was sent to Shiro.

“Shouldn’t-” Shiro looks at Lotor for advice on what to do. Any time Lotor was sick, Shiro was right there next to him, no matter what, but he’s well aware of the oddity the two of them are, so he’s unsure of the protocol here. Lotor shakes his head and turns to answer Zane.

“Tell Lady Romelle should she need anything, we’re willing to run an errand for the princess, and that we wish her a rapid recovery.” Again, the young page waits for Shiro’s nod to rush out of the room.

“Your heart is still much too soft, Takashi.” Lotor smiles, stealing a piece of bread from Shiro’s tray, and messing up his hair as he leaves. “You’re a good man.”

“Yet somehow I feel like I’m getting teased, and I’m sure it has to do with that grin of yours. You do know it’s  _ your _ princess the one that’s sick.” Shiro removes the sash from his hair, he’ll have to comb it again now. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Oh,” for less than a second, Lotor seems caught off guard, but he recovers so quickly Shiro thinks he might’ve imagined it all. “To tend the horses, of course. I miss Sincline, might take her out for a ride, all things considered.”

“Well, wait for me then. I want to see Black too.” Shiro’s fixing his hair back into the low ponytail when there’s a rap at the door, and Lotor opens with a far too cheerful expression.

“Sir Kogane, why, how auspicious! We were just talking about you.” Lotor’s welcome has Keith’s eyes widening for a moment, finding Shiro much too flustered at the back of the room, and then tightening towards Lotor. “Well m’lord, this is my cue to leave, I’ll make sure to give Black your regards. Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

It might have to do with the fact that he’s definitely crushing on the Altean beauty, or that he had very, very vivid dreams the previous night, involving the man currently in front of him. Or that he’s just helpless, but when Lotor’s gone- with a wink and an overdone bow- Shiro is shocked still, hands at the back of his head where he forgot what he was doing before the knight arrived.

“The princess said you might have need of me?” To Shiro’s relief, Keith seems as confused as him about what’s just transpired, eyes darting between Shiro and the rest of the room. He follows, until they catch the bed, and is suddenly coughing around the intrusive thoughts, hurrying to finish tying his hair and walking out the room.

“Yes! I- I wanted to see- the town.” Anything, Shiro thinks, besides the two of them staying another second in his room.

“Shouldn’t you finish your breakfast? I don’t mind waiting.” His voice sounds mildly concerned, and it only feeds Shiro’s guilt at the way his mind seems intent on staying in the gutter.

“No, no, I’m not hungry.” He lies, walking as far away as he can from the rooms, and halls, and any other surface where he could press the knight up, and taste his lips. Tangle his fingers in the man’s braid, and feel the skin under the dark plate.

The town is a good idea after all, Shiro thinks as they walk amidst the people, so many good distractions to his thoughts, and one very good reason to behave, when he’s out in broad daylight and dressed as the Galran prince. Yes, a great idea.

It’s also not such a good one, because he’s definitely very hungry, and as he eyes the items for sale on a stand, the knight disappears, and comes back with a package. Blueberry jam pastries, for him, and Shiro’s heart does a funny leap in his chest. There’s a tiny- minuscule really- voice in Shiro’s head that whispers just how similar this is to a date. He ignores it.

When Keith confesses Zane told him, and that those are his favorites too, Shiro offers one to him. The blush he’s regaled with is captivating, and the way the purple of his eyes shine so vividly under the sun and the long, thick lashes will probably be the reason for Shiro’s public beheading.

Luckily, Altea doesn’t behead people, and Keith seems to have a thinking brain, unlike Shiro, because he steps away, back to a respectable distance, and they continue their walk.

-

Keith wants to believe he’s imagining things. He’s trying so hard to put a different meaning- any other meaning at all- to the prince’s behaviour towards him. The way the man will step closer to him almost unconsciously as Keith shows him around town, and how he looks so attentive at whatever thing Keith’s saying. How he’s caught those stormy gray eyes falling to his lips on more than one occasion, or the moment his hand rose to clean a crumble on his lower lip, only to halt midway and point at it instead.

It  _ has _ to mean something else. He can’t possibly imagine what, but he’s probably just misreading it. The prince is close to his knight, he’s seen as much, perhaps he’s just affectionate like that? Maybe he’s just-  _ friendly _ .

Of course, he thinks while buying some bread and meat for a late lunch. It’s because the man’s going to marry Keith’s princess that they have walked the entirety of the town’s market, and talked amicably all morning. He tells himself as much, while they hike up the river that runs alongside the town outskirts.

That’s probably the only reasonable explanation. After all, why would the prince bother to learn about Keith’s past, ask about his horse, his pet wolf, what the hardest part of becoming a knight was. This almost seemed-

But it wasn’t. The man’s just nice, and trying to be friendly with his betrothed Blade, because he probably imagines Keith will be next to Allura after their marriage too. Keith convinces his heart of it, as they find a nice secluded spot by the riverside to eat.

And it helps too. For about three minutes, before the prince is stripping, and Keith’s frozen in place, chest slowly heaving under the breastplate. 

He watches as the man opens the cloak clasp over his right shoulder and lays it spread on the grass, carefully leaving his sword next to it, and unbuckling his belt next. He pulls his tunic up, and even with the undershirt, Keith can see the way his back muscles ripple with the movement. He wants to say something as the prince moves onto take his boots off, but either the air is trapped in his lungs and refusing to exit in the shape of words, or it has left him completely.

The prince walks into the river, black leggings and white undershirt, hair loose and shining under the sun. It’s the most beautiful thing Keith has ever seen, and he has to wonder if he’s done something to upset the Gods, to be punished this way.

“Sir Kogane.” That’s his name, Keith thinks, trying to blink the haze of want from his mind. It’s nearly impossible. “Come, relax. No one’s gonna see us here.”

“Keith, just Keith.” He croaks out, out of the many things he should be saying. How wrong this is. That he should go because he can hear his mother calling him all the way from Feyiv. How he’s just fine like this, hot and bothered under his three layers of cloth and metal, and the cape, and the prince looking like a dream and a nightmare wrapped together. 

“ _ Keith _ .” His name sounds delicious from the prince’s lips. “Come.” A siren calling Keith over to test him, and he’ll positively fail. He’s failed already, hands undoing clasps and ties and leaving everything far less graciously on the ground next to the deep mauve cape.

When Keith joins, they walk further in, the water a soothing balm against his burning skin. He doesn’t dare speak again, unsure of what he might say if he does. Instead, he allows himself to contemplate the prince’s profile next time the man closes his eyes. The shape of his shoulders under the now wet clothes, the droplets that fall back to the river from his hair.

Looking harms only him, comes Keith reasoning, so he accepts it as the price to pay for falling in love with the man furthest from his reach of any imaginable.

“I’m starving, you?” He can’t tell how long’s passed when the prince turns to him with a smile and the question to pull Keith out of his inner wallowing. He just nods and walks back to the shore.

Keith searches for the food in his pouch, the prince, already seated over the cape, pats it in an invitation for him to join. It is then when Keith’s eyes catch sight of the sleeve once again, visible under the wet undershirt. Prince Lotor’s gaze follows his, and there’s a shadow of something too quick for Keith to understand passing through his eyes. But his face recovers into a smile a moment later as Keith sits down.

“You can ask about it.” The prince offers. Keith hands some of the meat and bread over, and thinks around a bite of his own. He wants to, but he searches the other man’s face for clues of how genuine the offer is, in how much trouble he can get with the wrong words.

Yet before he can open his mouth to ask, the prince is pushing the wet fabric up, and undoing the lacing on the doeskin. Keith swallows a gasp when he sees the skin under it, the scars covering it. There’s so many of them, deep and shallow, ragged and irregular, leaving a crisscrossing of different skin tones behind. There’s one in the shape of a crescent moon, it’s stretched, but it looks like teeths- a bite,  _ oh _ .

“You were attacked?” His voice is low, probably too low to hear with the river running right next to them, and the birds above. The prince hears it nonetheless.

“We were little, the-” He begins, flexing his hand, left one cradling the arm. “Shiro and I. We weren’t exactly well-behaved. The queen- my mother- she, she said we were as good for each other as we were the other’s worst influence.” The prince laughs, low and breathy, the emotion is thick in the air around them. Keith listens with rapt attention, not daring to move a muscle.

“One day we decided to go on a hunt. The king wouldn’t take us, because we were little, around Zane’s age probably, but of course we felt old enough already. Invincible in our childish innocence.” Keith breathes when the prince does, thinks little of the way the man addresses his own father, because he knows the king himself. And now his whole body is ready to spring into action, he can imagine where the tale’s going and it has his senses on high alert.

“We followed the group as best we could, but somewhere along the way we got lost, and we came across a bear instead of the deer the men were supposed to be hunting.” A finger traces the bite, and Keith follows it closely. “It wasn’t coming for me. Shir- he, he’s been my brother, for as long as I can remember. I had to protect him, so I jumped in front of him.”

“I don’t remember much after that, everything’s bits and pieces. We fought back. Or well, he did. I tried my best, but I was in pain, and losing so much blood. But Shiro, he- I’d like to say he was fearless, but he was as terrified as I was. He’s always been good with the sword, and he fought the bear away. I fainted a moment later.” The prince starts tying the sleeve closed, and Keith sees the way his head is purposely kept down for what it is. He too had hidden his emotions in a task. “When I woke up he was there, asleep next to me. Took me back to the palace himself, and refused to move until I woke up.”

Keith wants to say something, wishes he could find the right words for the moment, but actions have always been his thing. So he reaches out, air held high in his chest as he places a hand on the prince’s wrist, and squeezes softly. There’s a stutter in the man’s breath, and the way his eyes close shut breaks Keith’s heart.

“Your knight was a very brave kid. You both were.” He finds his voice, turns the prince’s hand around to finish the lacing of the band. He fights the urge to kiss the spot where the bow is tied and a speck of damaged skin peaks through, right towards the palm of his hand.

There’s not much more to say after that, and the way back to the castle is quiet, although he can’t say it’s tense anymore. More like, contemplative.

Keith dreams of the prince once again that night. Of a bear finding them in the river, and Keith jumping in front of him. Of the prince fighting the bear away. Of Keith kissing his injuries, old and new. The way his chest aches when he wakes up, he would not wish it to his worst enemy.

-

Shiro’s walking through a gorgeously kept hedge maze, the princess perched around his arm the perfect image of beauty, and both their knights walking several steps behind them. The day is bright and sunny, a perfect Altean summer day as they’ve been told. Conversation is flowing with ease, both between them, and the men in armor, and Shiro is left to wonder what changed the spirits between them.

And that’s the whole issue with today, Shiro thinks, back as tense as day one, despite everything being as smooth and easy as it could be, all things considered. He can’t stop thinking about Keith, and their conversation the day before. The whole day they spent together, talking, sharing a meal, and even managing to make Keith laugh at one point.

It had been the most wonderful sound Shiro had heard in his life, everything else fading around him, the only thing in his body and soul the rich and silvery sound he’d pulled from Keith’s lips. If there had been any doubt by then of how utterly and hopelessly in love Shiro was with the knight, that bright sound had erased it.

Shiro’s in love like never before in his life, and even if he trusts the voice in his head that says there might be a chance Keith feels the same, he’d been lying to the man for four days now. His breath stutters at the notion.

Even if he can swear there’s a sliver of reciprocation simmering in Keith’s eyes whenever they lock gazes, how could the man forgive Shiro after this? The idea that he’s actively ruining a chance with someone as wonderful as Keith fills Shiro with dread, his whole skin burning for this charade to be over and done with already. He fingers the collar of the tunic, suddenly too tight, too warm.

He’s counting the minutes for this day to come to an end. Four days he’s promised Lotor, and he’s a man of his word, so at the end of it he can only hope Keith will understand. He’ll plead on his knees if needs be, he-

“My prince?” The princess’ voice startles him, and when Shiro looks around, he can see three sets of eyes on him, worry etched on each of the faces. “Are you alright?”

“I-” He frowns, wants to say yes, but as the question registers in his mind, Shiro sways on his feet, gaze slightly out of focus. Lotor’s right there on his side before he has a chance to stumble, and Shiro’s hand lets go of Allura to support himself on his friend.

“It must be the heat,” Shiro hears Allura say, but it sounds so far away. Lotor’s hands come up to his face, eyes searching for something, and a moment later his arms are thrown over both Lotor and Keith’s shoulders, and he’s been carried inside.

He seems unable to breathe right, or understand the voices around him, all of them sounding as if he’s underwater. Everything around him is shaking, and it takes Shiro a moment to realize it’s actually him that’s trembling.

Lotor is calling him to attention, and Shiro struggles to do so. There’s a hand pressing against his chest, a voice counting, and he tries to follow it. A part of him knows this is important.

When he comes to, he’s in his room in Altea, the bed under him is the first thing his mind brings to the front. Shiro blinks through the cloud in his sight, and Lotor lets out a relieved sigh. He looks around but they’re alone. Shiro too lets out a long sigh.

“Wh-” He wants to ask where Keith is, and the princess, wants to know what happened, although he can’t form even the first of his questions. But Lotor silences him, and pushes Shiro down on the bed.

“Rest, Shiro.” His eyes sit on him, clearly an order, and Shiro nods. He’s so tired, he’s not sure he can do anything more than curl on his side and sleep. “I’ll fix everything.”

-

Keith is worried, pacing around the room like a caged animal. He might be acting a bit irrationally, he’s aware, especially after he’s been told that the prince is alright. Something about heat and restlessness is what the knight says, but Keith can’t quite believe him, and he itches to go and see for himself. 

He needs to make sure the prince is alright, even when it’s not his place, nor his duty. And so he waits until the other man leaves, and makes his way there. Or so he thinks.

On the way there, a thought pops in his head, and he decides to take a detour through the kitchens, grab something to drink, maybe some food as well. Prepare a tray to take with him in the hopes he finds the prince awake. He never makes it to the kitchens.

As Keith walks past the dining hall, Allura’s hushed voice draws his attention. There’s someone there with her, and it takes only a second for him to recognize the other voice as the knight’s. He stops to listen, his every worry about the man resurfacing and amplifying in lieu of the moment.

“Of course I will, love.” The man says, and Keith’s blood boils, hands pushing the doors open before he can even understand he’s doing it, and for a moment he can’t believe his eyes.

There, in the middle of the room, is Allura in the knight’s arms, one of his hands brushing a caress on her cheek. They turn at the sound of the doors snapping open, and he can see the moment they understand they’ve been caught. Keith sees red.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Keith’s on the man in the blink of an eye, hands prying him away from the princess and pinning him to the nearest column. “This is the princess of Altea right here, who do  _ you _ think you are?”

“Keith.” Allura calls, but he’s not listening.

“Keith.” He thinks he hears the knight call him too, but he can’t think, blinded by the rage.

“Keith, relax.” Allura tries again, a hand on his arm.

“You should listen to your princess, little Blade.” Oh, but he’s looking for it. Keith pushes, watching when air leaves the man’s lungs.

“ _ Sir Kogane. _ ” The use of his title on Allura’s distressed voice pulls Keith from it, and he instantly straightens and steps away on instinct. His chest heaves with anger and confusion, King Alfor has entrusted him with his daughter’s wellbeing, and he’s failed. But also heartache for the man missing from the picture. He looks at Allura.

“Keith,” her voice is guarded, afraid of him, he realises, so he takes a couple calming breaths. “Keith, this is not what it looks like. I- we, I was on my way to tell you. Lotor, the prince, he’s not- it was a silly game. I’m sorry.”

-

Shiro’s not sure how long he’s slept, but if the sun outside is still from the current day, then it’s not much. The last couple of hours come rushing back at him. The last few days as well. Lotor’s wedding, Altea, Keith, the princess, Lotor saying he’d fix it. Damn, he should’ve been there.

He throws the covers off, and stands. There’s a brief sway to his step until he collects himself, and then he’s out the room. 

Shiro’s not sure where to go, where in the castle he can find them, so he tries Lotor’s room first, and the the princess’. He’s unsure which one is Keith’s, and he doesn’t dare go knocking on random doors, so he tries the dining hall next, and there’s where he sees him.

“Keith!” Shiro calls, but the man only flinches at his voice, and dashes away. He can barely catch a glimpse of Lotor and Allura, her face pinched in pain, and he has half a mind to go to her, when the prince nods for him to follow the knight.

“Keith, wait.” He tries again, quickening his pace to close the distance between them to no avail. He’s still tired from his episode earlier, and Keith’s very much a man on a mission by how he hurries through the hallways.

Shiro finally reaches him at one of the enclosed gardens, fingers closing around the man’s wrist to make him stop. “Keith,” he breathes out, but a moment later there’s a fine looking blade at his neck, and he lets go, hands up in surrender.

He doesn’t know what’s happened, but he has no intention of fighting. And even if he had, he’s unarmed, his sword and knife back in the room. “Keith, what’s-”

“You lied.” His voice trembles, and Shiro swallows thickly. He did know, and he won’t deny it, knowing it will do more harm than good. Keith’s free hand closes in a fist on his tunic, his voice hardening when he speaks again. “You lied from the start, and you made me believe-” 

Whatever he wants to say dies between them, yet his eyes do all the talking. They remind Shiro of a lion he came across one. The most stunning creature he’d ever set eyes on, the reddest mane and sharpest fangs Shiro had ever seen in his life. Deadly in its beauty.

He feels just like that now. One wrong movement and Keith will pounce on him. Shiro can’t deny he would deserve it, and right now he knows the fire he got glimpses of in the man’s eyes would translate smoothly into his body, and Shiro won’t stand a chance.

“I’m sorry, Keith.” Still, as Shiro apologises, his entire soul in those few words, he can’t help but to feel he’s been missing something as well. “If I’d known, if I’d known you, I wouldn’t-”

“Save it.” He spits, and it’s worse than any stab Shiro has gotten in his life. Keith lets go of him, and this time Shiro knows not to follow. The lion has forgiven him once again, he won’t get a third chance.

-

The trip to Feyiv is torture for all parts involved. Allura tries to speak to Keith at every chance she gets, but he opts for riding his horse, instead of joining her in the carriage, and at night, when the tents are set and food served, he grabs something and keeps to the side with his wolf.

He mulls over her words, shapes and reshapes them in his mind until they lose meaning, and he’s left with a broken heart and a bad aftertaste in his mouth.

It had been but a game, he’d been told that day in the dining hall. Prince and princess knew each other from before the formal introductions, having met by a coincidence on a trip to Arus two years before. Allura had shown Keith the many letters they’d exchanged since, told him of a true love formed in spite of the marriage their parents had arranged, and of a little fun they’d wanted to have before the trip that would seal their bond forever.

He understood, Allura’s deep blush, and sorrowful words were clear enough. She hadn’t meant to cause Keith harm, and neither had prince Lotor to his knight. They couldn’t have known what would happen. They hadn’t thought. And Keith understood that as well. He’d certainly been thoughtless himself from time to time. 

Still, he can’t help the way his chest hurts whenever he lays eyes on the Galran knight. Sir Takashi Shirogane, Shiro. The one man that had captured Keith’s heart in a handful of days, and now refused to leave that spot between his ribs.

Shiro hadn’t known the extent of the game either, Allura assures Keith repeatedly, at every chance she has to slip a word his way. And it’s the way she tries so hard to restore Keith’s link with the man- even before their own- what has Keith accepting her apologies the last day of the trip.

Allura has never been anything but loyal to him the way he is to her, and he can’t possibly hold a grudge against her for long. Plus, he knows the game will eventually become a card Keith will hold above her head when she tries to play coy.

“So white, ‘llura.” Keith teases her, the night before the wedding, when her snowy dress is brought into her room at Feyiv. The way she blushes and hides behind her hands is a step back on track to their usual friendship.

-

Shiro wants to be angrier at Lotor, feels he has the right to, given he was kept in the dark about a very important part of the agreement he walked into. And even if he understands how it was more interesting the way it happened, Shiro also knows he would’ve said yes regardless of the why, and the how. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? He did say yes, and he did pretend to be Lotor, and lied to Keith.

So it’s only fair he gets to pay for his stupidity with being shunned by the man. And it’s only reasonable he can’t do the same to Lotor for more than a couple of days. After all, he’s done stupid things in the past from which the prince has bailed him out. A dumb game of pretend between wife and husband-to-be is hardly worth a lifetime of friendship- the closest thing both of them have had to a brother- to be tossed away, even if it’s taken a toll on Shiro’s heart.

The way to Feyiv is therefore torture. Shiro and Lotor spend some of the more tense moments of their adult life over a teenagers’ game, he can hardly look at the princess without her trying to apologise yet again, and he can only tell her it is not needed so many times. And Keith- Shiro can’t even begin to try and go near Keith again. Especially now that he’s seen the man and the princess are on good terms again. If he can be assured things will keep their current course- which he can’t- then he’d dare to properly apologise without the fear of twisting the knife on a closing wound.

It’s the morning of the wedding when Shiro finds himself with a new opportunity when Lotor asks him to deliver a message to King Alfor, and that puts him face to face with a Blade. One Shiro has no trouble identifying, even if he hadn’t known beforehand who she is. Her son’s so much like her, down to the penetrating violet eyes, but for the hair. She keeps it short, which surprises Shiro, as not many women do.

He has to wait until the king has read and answered the note, and Shiro can’t help but to think he’s been evaluated by the woman. He can feel her gaze on him. And even when shame makes him avoid looking straight at her, he stands as tall as his spine allows him, shoulders squared, right hand in a deathly grip on the left.

“Sir Shirogane.” Shiro closes his eyes for a second, steeling himself before turning around to face the woman. He’d been so close to reaching his room. “May I have a word with you?”

“Lady Kogane.” He dips his head in a bow, knowing he’s not keeping the fear from his face, no matter how hard he’s trying. “Of course, should we-”

“The balcony is just fine.” Right, Shiro thinks acidly, there’s nothing that says wedding day quite like being pushed from a balcony by the mother of the man you love.

“Lady Kogane, I-” His attempt at an apology is cut short by a single raised finger from her. He snaps his mouth shut.

“First of all, Krolia.” The woman raises an eyebrow at Shiro, a question he answers with a hasty nod, before she continues. “Now, it is my understanding that some  _ events _ led my son to grow fond of you, and later on to heartbreak.”

Shiro wonders if he’s supposed to answer, and he’s about to, when she holds that finger up in the air once again. Okay, silence. Shiro’s hand worries at his arm behind his back, fingers digging in way it will be mauled by the moment this conversation is done- if he makes it alive at all- but he can keep quiet.

“I do not know, the things you, the prince and princess have done while in Altea, nor do I care for them. I trust my son, and the things he’s told me.” Her gaze moves downward, and Shiro’s follows, and surely there, in the middle of the garden where the ceremony would take place in mere hours, was Keith next to the princess.

Gods above Shiro isn’t sure he’s going to survive this moment. If the woman in front of him didn’t kill him, he might as well die from her silences, and how his brain filled them with horrible ideas.

“He’s defended you, even when I offered to do something about it.” She’s as serious as one can be, and Shiro’s eyes are surely wide in terror now. He swallows thickly around the very clear message that he’s being spared. “He says you’re a good man.”

“Krolia, I-” Shiro hurries to get a word in before she cuts him again. “I didn’t know, the-”

“ _ No. _ If you tell me, I’ll have to tell the king, and this all sounds like kids being kids.” He nods in understanding, she’s not just sparing him, but Lotor as well. “Keith says you’re a good man, and I trust him. But he’s not one to open his heart to just anyone, and it closes faster than you can imagine. So if you have good intentions, this would be the moment to not fuck up again.”

Shiro gapes at the information given, the chance, more uncertain now than he was when he believed the woman was after his head. “Yes, of course, I- I won’t. Never again.”

“Good. And now lose the terror face, kid. If I wanted to kill you I wouldn’t have brought you to a balcony.” She pats his arm a little too strongly, and Shiro knows she’s telling the truth.

-

Shiro goes looking for Keith the moment he parts from Krolia. Not that he’s hurrying to put as much distance between him and the terrifying woman or anything, no. He’s just anxious to find Keith and properly apologise, and hopefully get a new chance from him as well. His heart is loud in his chest, and his hands are trembling by the moment he finally finds him.

Keith sees him and seems to debate with himself for a moment, Shiro feels just like the moment he arrived at Altea, how Keith’s eyes had pierced through him. Now he understands better where the look comes from, having been under it just a moment ago. He can’t know what it is that Keith sees, but then he’s murmuring something to Allura, and walking towards him.

“You know,” he greets Shiro with a finger to the chest, a deep frown twisting his features. “I like you better with the plate, instead of those ridiculous shiny tunics.” He wants to laugh, can feel the relief rising within his chest, but quiets it for now. He’s yet to apologise, and they still have so much to talk about.

Shiro’s fingers wrap around Keith’s wrist, slow enough to give him room to pull away, and when he doesn’t, Shiro pulls his hand up to brush a kiss to his knuckles, and then his palm. “I’m so sorry.” He murmurs to the skin, rough and hardened by a lifetime of sword wielding.

“Shiro.” Keith whispers, and the blush rushing up his neck and cheeks is everything Shiro wants to see for the rest of his life. “Let’s go elsewhere, please.”

He doesn’t know Feyiv, and he’s not sure Keith does, but Shiro follows. It doesn’t matter that they’ve only known each other for a week, he knows he’d follow Keith to the end of the world and wouldn’t ask questions. They don’t go far though, making their way around the small palace the wedding party is staying, to the back of the stables.

“Okay.” There, Keith seems to recover the fire, standing several feet apart, hands crossed over his chest. Good, Shiro wants to make this right. He’d spar Keith if needed, win him over however it takes. “I’m listening.”

“I didn’t know.” He starts there, because it’s what’s at the front of his mind, and because he wasn’t hoping for a chance, so he doesn’t have a speech prepared. “It’s not an excuse. I still lied to you, and for that I apologise. But Keith, I- I could’ve never imagined.” Shiro wants to get closer, his whole body urges him to, pleads with him to just bridge the distance. But stays put.

“Was it all a lie?” Keith’s question punches the air out of his lungs, and Shiro takes half a step forward, desperate to placate every doubt maring his beautiful features.

“No, Keith, of course not. Just- the name, the title, that’s all.” This time it is Keith who takes a step forward, and Shiro’s heartbeat grows steadier. A sliver of hope blooms in his chest again. “I still love the stars, and blueberry pastries. I did do at least half the stupid things you heard about, the other half was Lotor. I’m still in love with you.”

“You’re-” Keith’s gasp is exquisite, and before he knows it, Shiro’s pressed against the wall behind him, those captivating purple eyes looking up at him with hunger. Shiro imagines his own are a mirror of the sentiment, can feel his entire body responding to Keith’s closeness, and he’s dying to kiss him. Gods how he’s dying to taste his lips at last.

But he can’t. Not like this. Not more hiding around. Keith doesn’t deserve that. Shiro pries his hands away, kissing each at the wrist, and moving to trace Keith’s jawline with his thumb. The skin there is so soft. 

“I’d like to court you, properly.” Shiro caresses down to where Keith's neck meets the plate. “If you’d let me?”

-

Keith’s sure the wedding is lovely, just as Allura wished and planned. He can say the castle’s decorations are nice, elegant, if a bit too much for his taste, and he can attest Allura makes the words  _ most beautiful bride _ pale compared to her. She has her prince wrapped around her finger the moment he lays eyes on her as well, steals every look from the wedding guests, and she does so without anything more than the smile Keith has known all his life.

Every look but his. Because Keith’s been scattered to the four winds this past week, picked apart and pulled together in a way far more painful than the scars he’s suffered to the tip of a sword. And at the end of it all, left raw and exposed. And Keith’s gaze had been locked on the man behind it all for the entirety of the day, intent in learning him all over again.

And so he keeps to the sides of the party, and watches Shiro.

Keith watches the softness with which the knight congratulates Allura on her nuptials, a kiss on both her cheeks after she swats away his attempts at cordiality, and the contrast to the rough hug he gives the prince. How they both seem very interested in making the other yield within the tight embrace.

He traces the line of Shiro’s profile when he’s listening attentively to whatever queen Honerva tells him, the way his hand flexes just so whenever king Zarkon walks past him, and even the barely-there-flinch to his spine the one time Keith catches his mom nod to him in greeting.

Keith follows Shiro’s movements as he makes small talk with some guests Keith doesn’t know, people from Galra, he assumes. He sees his polite smiles, and gentle eyes. How his lips tip slightly more to the right when he likes the person he’s talking to. And he also notices how people look at him.

But Keith doesn’t mind. Just this once in his life he’s confident about something, and that’s the man currently walking towards him, the charming grin splitting his face that’s there just for Keith. The way Shiro’s hand slots into his, as if it had always meant to be there. How he’s brushing a kiss to Keith’s palm, until he has to forcibly let the air out of his lungs, and plea with his eyes for mercy.

He sees the way Shiro’s face goes through the emotions, and is even bold enough to dare name them. The blush high on the man’s cheeks at Keith’s gasp, the way he licks his lips, and the gray eyes become molten silver. The moment he schools his features into a mask of calm and collected. The tiniest tug at the corner of his mouth that reaches all the way to his eyes, and when he takes a breath before asking.

Bashfulness, Keith thinks. Bashfulness, and nervousness, and desire. Calm, and joy.

“Would you dance with me, Sir Kogane?” Mirth and love.

-

They’re not exactly dancing, more like swaying to the music to the best of their abilities, Shiro observes. Not that he really minds it, whatever piece the musicians are interpreting is perfect for Shiro’s hand to slide over the small of Keith’s back, and press the man to his chest. And that is absolute perfection, if his opinion counts for anything.

He’s been on a love high all afternoon and seems it will continue to be like this until the end of the night, and hopefully all the way til the morning after. And the day after that, and next month, and the following year. Shiro wishes to feel like this for as long as Keith will allow him to. As long as he can brush his fingers across the man’s cheekbone, and get lost in his purple eyes, there’s nothing else he needs.

“Yes?” Keith asks, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Am I finally getting that kiss?”

“So eager.” Shiro teases, because he’d be damned if he doesn’t want to kiss Keith, but he also wants to make this right. Everything must be perfect, and that includes proper courting. “How about we go on a date first?”

“We’ve been on a date before, three if I’m remembering correctly.” Keith’s hand on Shiro’s shoulder travels up, a finger brushing there where the tunic ends and his skin begins. It sets him alight.

“I hardly think tunic measurement counts as one.” He laughs, breathy and tight, because Keith’s finger’s now toying up his neck, and Gods but Shiro’s a weak man. He tightens his hold. “Besides, we’ve yet to go on one where you can call me Takashi.”

“Takashi?” Keith pushes slightly apart, and for a moment concern seeps into Shiro. “Shiro, have you been lying about your name again?” His shocked face doesn’t last though, a chuckle leaving those lovely, plush looking lips.

“You’re horrible.” Shiro says, but he’s pulling Keith closer until his head rests on Shiro’s shoulder.

“Now you’ll tell me you were indeed a prince all along, but from another kingdom. The son of Altea’s mortal enemy.” It’s ridiculous, but Shiro can’t help but to laugh, because this is exactly how he imagined love would feel like.

“Altea has a mortal enemy?” He feels Keith’s shake of his head, the way his breath hits his neck and makes his skin break out in goosebumps. “But I’m afraid I’m not a prince, I’m sorry. I might have an earldom, though, how would you like that?”

“You might-” This time, when Keith pushes away, Shiro lets him go, the way his eyes are wide in a mixture of shock and disbelief is adorable. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“Lotor owes me one.” Shiro shrugs, and because he doesn’t quite know what to do, he adds. “I won it in a horse race.”

“You two are absolute menaces. I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Keith steps back into the embrace, and Shiro sways them once more. “I’d rather not be a count though.”

The implications of Keith’s comment makes Shiro’s heart falter, and hands flinch where he’s holding the man. “Oh.” He struggles to find words, keep them light, teasing. “We’re getting married then?” He fails spectacularly, because his throat’s tight around the words. Around the hope.

“Why, of course we’re getting married, Shiro. Or do you expect to raise the kids out of wedlock? What would my mother say?” If they don’t trip and fall right there, it’s because Keith’s reflexes are quick, and he steadies them both.

“K- kids? There are kids?” He stutters like a fool. But the way Keith tips his head back and laughs, happy and free, filling every crack in Shiro’s chest, is well worth being one. “Your mother terrifies me,” Shiro confesses once Keith’s composed once again. He thumbs a happy tear from the corner of his eye.

“My mom  _ is _ terrifying, I won’t fault you for that. But, oh Takashi, you’re so easy to fluster, and you look so adorable like that.” Shiro’s sure Keith’s making him pay for the week of lies, and he sure deserves it, but the way he says his name, his full name- there’s only so much Shiro can do not to pull Keith into the first room they can find, right there and then. 

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He’s cocky, danger dancing like wildfire in his eyes. Shiro will burn gladly. “How about that kiss now, then?” 

“And what about that date?” But even as he says it, his hands are cupping Keith’s face, and tilting it upwards.

“Maybe the walk around the town can count as the first one.” Keith’s voice is a low whisper, Shiro leans closer, their lips a breath away. “Maybe this can be it. You know what they say about couples that get together at weddings.”

“No, what do t-” He doesn’t get an answer. He doesn’t get to finish the question, because the pull is unbearable now, and finally, after what felt like a lifetime but was hardly a week, their lips press together.

And it’s just that at first, just their mouths together, and just that would be enough to Shiro to live a happy man. But then Keith pushes closer, hands tugging at him, one on his chestplate, the other climbing up the back of his neck. 

Keith’s lips are as soft and full as they look, stealing Shiro’s breath away upon the first touch. He gasps, his body alight with the desire he’s held for days finally becoming a reality, and Keith takes advantage of the opening, moulding his lips to Shiro’s, sighing to them. That shakes him from his daze, and then his hands are tightening on Keith’s neck, fingers tangling in his braid. He’ll mess it up, he knows, but he can’t stop to care.

He nips a request to Keith’s lower lip and is granted permission around the sexiest groan he’s ever heard. It shoots lightning down Shiro’s spine, turns his stomach molten heat. And then his tongue is sliding against Keith’s, picking up the taste of Keith’s drinks of the night, and  _ him _ .

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Shiro’s aware Keith's moving, and has half a mind to worry about causing a scene at the party. But then his back hits a wall, and Keith sucks at his tongue pulling a broken sob from his throat that sounds more animal than human, chasing it with a bite to his lip, and Gods, if this the last thing Shiro’s ever to taste he won’t complain.

“Shiro,” Keith breathes against his mouth, softer than he has any right to be, with how he’s left his soul in shambles and body on fire.

“Keith,” he whispers right back, just because he likes the way he can say it now. With love.

They gather their bearings in the corner Keith has tucked them into, and once they manage to look slightly less wrecked, they return to the dance floor as if nothing happened. Their tousled hair and swollen lips fool no-one, though, but they don’t really mind anyone else.

“Keith.” He calls when the melody changes once again, hands resting on the man’s hips, foreheads pressed together. Keith hums in acknowledgement. “What is it they say about couples that get together at weddings?”

Keith looks up, his eyes are the deepest shade Shiro has seen so far, and he can’t wait until he discovers just how many more there are.

“I’ll tell you when we’re old and grey.” He says matter-of-factly, and Shiro’s heart seizes in his chest.

“I can’t wait.”

“Me neither.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/ragdollrory) :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [nothing ever seems so (the prince and the blade remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059835) by [spectrespecs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectrespecs/pseuds/spectrespecs)




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